


Sharing car, sharing coffee, sharing love?

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute, Dwori - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance, School, Swearing, Week of Orwal, father - Freeform, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For many reasons, Dwalin offers his son's teacher Ori a ride home in his car. Little does Dwalin know that a simple ride will turn into so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing car, sharing coffee, sharing love?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week of Orwal (created and hosted by http://fyeahorwal.tumblr.com). Prompt of the day was: Sharing. I intended to make a short story. It turned into a large chunk of text. Enjoy!

“I’ll take him now. Sleepy, kiddo?” Thor’s mom wondered as she helped her eight-year old son into his rain-coat in the busy hallway in an otherwise empty school.

The boy with the average coloured, short hair nodded but hefted his backpack onto his shoulder in spite of his mother offering to carry it for him.

Dwalin crouched down on his haunches and peered at his strong trooper. Thor was a fighter with a good heart. Though, thankfully his mother had provided enough genes to make him intelligent and civil, too.

Dwalin grasped Thor’s hands to bring him closer so they could hear each other over the hurried dressing of a whole class by parents.

The children had invited the parents to a show that rainy November evening after work so that they could perform what they had learned in a fun way with plays and songs and poems about the seven oceans, the planets, and Mozart’s complete life story, told by a very excited girl who held an intimidatingly large stack of papers.

Needless to say, the parents had appreciated the children’s efforts but were now keen on taking their families home. It wasn’t Dwalin’s time to have Thor, but he knew the boy would be looked after by his ex-wife. Still, as always, it stung just a little to part from his son.

“You were so good on the stage. Jesus, to stand alone and recite Aristotle by heart… I’m so proud, Thor.”

Thor ducked his head down to hide his heating cheeks and he scraped his boot on the floor, bashful from the praise.

“Dad! It wasn’t Aristotle. It was Aesop; the one with the fables.”

Dwalin muffled a grunt and glared at Thor’s mom who stood behind her son’s back and contained a laugh with her hand over her mouth.

“Right, right. I was just testing you. You do remember what you learn,” Dwalin parried his blunder with, but Thor looked like he didn’t believe him one bit. Dwalin sighed and opened his arms.

“Come here and give your father a hug.”

Thor’s frown turned into a beam and he launched himself into Dwalin’s embrace, with such force that Dwalin almost staggered back and fell on his bottom. His son was a big kid, just like he had been, with a broad set of shoulders, meaty neck, and height that made him the tallest in his class.

“Love you, daddy,” Thor whispered against Dwalin’s ear, beginning to feel embarrassed by such confessions in public, so Dwalin thoroughly enjoyed it while it lasted. He hugged Thor tightly before he leaned back and ruffled his hair.

“I’m proud of you, kid. And I think uncle Thorin would like to hear that quote next weekend when he comes over.”

Thorin, Dwalin’s best mate since childhood was the reason behind Thor’s name, and being uncle not by blood but by being Thor’s godfather, the dark-haired man was prompting now and then to see his godson, if only to get some respite from his rowdy nephews.

To say that Dwalin was proud went without saying. His son was oddly matured sometimes, and he looked so impressive amongst his friends on the stage at the ending song. The show at school had gone well. Dwalin had actually found himself genuinely amused and often glanced at his ex-wife with pride for their growing son.

However, even though Dwalin thought that his kid was the best, he understood that the other parents probably thought their children performed the best, except for poor Kevin who had started to cry when he forgot his words, but when he abandoned the stage and ran towards his mom’s embrace for comfort, he looked very cute, so at least he had that going for him.

The thunder of applauds when the lined-up little actors bowed and restlessly swung their joined hands had almost been enough to dispel the patter of rain against the windows.

Dwalin stood up and waved goodbye at Thor and his mom as they trotted to the cluster of dressed children and adults bracing themselves by the doors to go out into the dark, rainy autumn night and head for their cars. Dwalin grimaced at the prospect of leaving the safety and warmth in the school but at the same time he realized that after working and hurrying to Thor’s school, he was tired and wanted to go home.

He turned to grab his coat from the hook that belonged to Thor in the hall when the last parents left the door to the classroom.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. And Mrs. Davis. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Dwalin glanced at Thor’s teacher Ori Rison who stood in the doorway and shook hands with the departing family. The adults smiled and exchanged some words with the fairly young but clearly ambitious and adored man who taught their daughter. After the weary couple and the yawning Davis girl had passed Dwalin, Dwalin realized he was the last one still there.

The teacher bloke was gone from the classroom door, too, and while Dwalin shrugged on his lengthy woolen coat, he heard sounds from inside the room. Treading carefully on the floor, he approached the doorway and peeked inside. What greeted him was Mr. Rison crouching on the floor and giving him a nice view of his round bottom in those straight jeans.

Feeling like a creep, Dwalin coughed and averted his eyes when the man gasped and struggled to his feet, holding a sizeable lump of mixed Play-Doh in his hand.

Dwalin lifted his tattooed hand and scratched his head in an attempt to make himself look less like an assaulting gangster with his coat and his grim features that could render strangers in his presence worried. It had happened before.

Mr. Rison seemed to remember the lump and he made a face that scrunched up his freckled nose when he stalked to the teacher’s desk and disposed the clay in the bin.

“The stuff gets stuck in the vacuum cleaners. I hope no parent stepped in it.”

Mr. Rison wiped his hand on his jeans, appeared to remember his audience, flushed, and walked across the classroom towards Dwalin.

“I’m sorry; did you want anything, Mr. Fundinson?”

Dwalin was put on the spot when the man through his glasses fixed piercingly blue eyes on him and he found himself stopping the leaning on the doorpost and stood straighter. The polite, normal, best thing as a British man put in an awkward position of staying in an all but empty school would have been to excuse himself and get his sorry arse home already.

However, Dwalin felt a perfect opportunity to really get to know the teacher who spent whole days teaching his son. He had admittedly been absent from meetings with Mr. Rison and Thor to discuss his educational development. His ex-wife had been present in those meetings instead, but Dwalin was undoubtly interested in his kid’s life at school. It was only difficult in his line of work to get away early.

But he loved his work; the stylish office, the interesting projects, the intelligent colleagues, his powerful outfits; this day consisting of a crisp light-blue oxford, bracers, grey slacks and a matching grey blazer. He thought he looked imposing and pristine, intimidating when he wanted to, but mostly only to rivalling businessmen from other companies.

Compared to the teacher, it became obvious they came from different worlds. The other man wore his straight, blue jeans that might flatter his short height, but were most likely more appreciated for their comfortable feeling and also resistant in the daily company of messy children and accidents.

The teacher also sported a long-sleeved beige shirt under a more formal deep-blue cardigan. The glasses that were perched on his nose gave him authority and age in a good way. Still, the both of them looked very different.

But no time to dwell on that. Now that he had no Thor to take home, Dwalin could build up trust in his teacher by getting acquainted. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I just wanted to say that you’ve done a great work with the show.”

Ori’s inquiring frown turned into an astonishing expression. “Funny that; no-one has expressed appreciation for _my_ effort to my face tonight. Thank you, Mr. Fundinson.”

A small smile graced the young man’s lips and Dwalin waved a hand over the classroom, anxious to change the subject and not be looked upon as a saint by this man.

“Want some help cleaning up? I don’t have any other obligations this evening,” he offered but the other man vigourishly shook his head.

“No, no thanks, it’ll be taken care of in the morning. I’ll just grab my jacket and lock up.”

Dwalin nodded and watched the man trot to his chair behind the desk at the front of the classroom and lift the garment resting over the back of the chair. As he marched back to Dwalin, he swept the faintly green parka around himself.

Dwalin could have read this closing of the school as his cue to leave. But for some reason, he wanted to remain in the smaller man’s presence, if only to wheedle forth more information about Mr. Rison’s views on Thor. He lingered when Mr. Rison turned off the lights, locked the classroom door, and at last let the entrance door fall shut behind them which left them side by side, staring into the dark, pouring, cold, menacing night.

***

Dwalin heard the pattering of thousands of drops on the tiny roof above that protected the entrance somewhat from the elements. He pursed his lips at the thought of confronting the wall of water ahead, and the howling wind that made the rain whip whatever it fell on, be it human or nature.

“Bugger me! It bloody worsened,” Dwalin exclaimed and noticed the other man putting knitted mittens with a pattern on his fingers. A good idea, Dwalin supposed, if you were a petite man with delicate fingers.

Wait, what?

Frowning at his observation, Dwalin looked sideways and saw that he literally towered over Mr. Rison. Not only that; Dwalin also must have been twice as broad over the chest. Mr. Rison really was a small man when he wasn’t surrounded by tiny kids.

Mr. Rison met his gaze, but his eyes quickly darted away; why was hard to tell but that move intrigued Dwalin all the same.

“Well, we can’t stand here all night. I need to go. Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Fundinson.”

Dwalin was captivated by Thor’s teacher with the polite, gentle voice and so, he found himself doing something utterly impulsive.

“Do you want me to drive you home?”

No earthly silence descended after his question, because the rain bounced loudly on the puddles on the schoolyard, and drummed on the roof, but that didn’t compare to the silence in Dwalin’s core. He received a long glance, before Mr. Rison pointed hesitantly into the darkness opposite of the school car park.

“I’ve got my bus-stop right here.”

Dwalin followed his finger with his eyes until he squinted and spotted a pitiful bus absent a shed to shelter waiting passengers, which would leave Ori, err, Mr. Rison in the rain and wind and cold.

Dwalin scowled at the Austen/Brontë fate the teacher was resigning himself to which could lead to him catching pneumonia from chilled, wet clothes. No, this was unacceptable, especially considering Thor needed his favorite, main teacher to be present and healthy. And Mr. Rison hadn’t exactly rejected his proposition.

“Please, don’t tell me you want to wait for a miserable bus when I can take you home in what; fifteen minutes?”

Ori craned his neck and fiddled with the fingers of his mittens. “There’s no way I can persuade you not to drive me, is there?”

His shy smile made Dwalin feel relief, and maybe a bit exhilirated at him giving up his stubborn attitude. He casually swayed sideways and bumped his arm into Ori’s shoulder.

“Come on, Mr. Rison; I don’t bite,”

Wide eyes stared up at him and suddenly Dwalin caught up with what had dropped out of his mouth and he felt so embarrassed by his words that could be interpreted as a line. He couldn’t flirt with his son’s teacher for crying out loud! This was just to get to know him better, for his son’s well-being, and definitely not to suck up to him.

After coughing and puffing out his cheeks to win time and feign ease, Dwalin omitted in a more neutral, reasoning tone, “I do have a spare front seat now that my ex-wife has kidnapped my son for the rest of the week. Care to try carpooling like decent adults conscious about the environment?”

The other arched his slim eyebrow at Dwalin’s suggestion before he replied in a collected tone, “On one condition. That you call me Ori and not Mr. Rison. I hear that a thousand times daily.”

Dwalin accepted immediately and together, the men left the school and braved the night outside. Dwalin jogged to car and unlocked it in his last leap and jumped in, Mr. Rison following on the other side of the car. Dwalin swallowed an inappropriate curse when he batted his coat to make the stray drops fall to the floor rather than soak into the fabric.

“Got your seat belt on?” Dwalin asked automatically and was treated to a sunny grin even as Ori elegantly grasped his wet glasses to dry them with a clean, white handkerchief. He looked very neat, even when his red hair was half plastered to his head, half disheveled from the wind.

“I see you’re a responsible driving parent. Yes, I have,” Ori commented. Then, without bidding, Ori began to compliment Dwalin’s kid as the father pulled out from the car park.

“I’m very content with Thor as of late. He’s a bright boy.”

“You’re not saying that just because I’m the one here to give you a ride?” Dwalin asked while he stared out of the drenched window and pressed the buttons that would heat up their seats.

“No,” the teacher drawled and ducked his head down and Dwalin almost bashed his head against the steering wheel. This wasn’t one of his colleagues with whom he could banter. This was a teacher who thought he was shooting him down when Dwalin was aiming at irony as a way of joking.

Awkward silence followed when Dwalin pulled out on the main road. Quite neutrally, he asked, “Where to?”

Ori said his address quietly and Dwalin hid a grimace at the thought of this delicate fellow having a home in an area where hippies or hipsters, whatever, spread rubbish on the streets during the days, and where trouble and crime haunted the residents at night according to the local papers.

Ori mentioned nothing of this however. Instead he was staring at the raindrops running on his window and Dwalin restlessly drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. How could he be so stupid to invite his son’s teacher to a drive? Why would he do that with a practically stranger he only knew by the rare correspondence in Thor’s notebook where Ori noted if Thor had misbehaved, what kind of homework he needed to do, or if Dwalin wanted to inform him that uncle Thorin for a change would pick up Thor in the afternoon?

Not before long, the teacher in question sighed, turned his face towards Dwalin, and said wearily, “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, you’re not,” Dwalin blurted and got a crease between his bushy brows. A soft chuckle reached his ears. He glanced sideways and saw Ori pushing up his glasses on his freckled nose. It was a very cute sight.

“You could let me off here and I’ll walk home. I need some fresh air after being cooped up in that school anyway.”

Dwalin snorted and punished himself for the idiotic impulsive expressions and noises he made by tightening his seat belt.

“You’d be soaked in a second and get _Austen-pneumonia_. I said I was going to give you a lift home and that’s what I’m bloody doing!”

He wasn’t yelling. More like barking. However, it did mute the teacher and Dwalin began to nibble on his lip, wondering if he was threatening Ori now. This was swiftly changing from a humane act to a potential hostage disaster. Dwalin was bewildered. At work he rarely blundered this much in a conversation. He blamed Ori’s smallish, cute looks to be too distracting for his caveman brain.

***

After a while, at a traffic-light, Ori piped up, “Thor is taking after you in other ways than looks, you know.”

“Oh?” was all Dwalin uttered, suddenly not all that relaxed. Regardless what would follow, he would try to listen and analyze rather than snarl defensively at an imaginary attack on his son. Ori let out a short chuckle.

“Thor is a good boy. He studies silently but it's as if he transforms during the breaks. You know, I see him on the schoolyard and I know that he could easily rule it, with his build and confidence. Instead, he makes certain that everyone is alright, to the point where he almost brusquely guides girls and boys into his group and makes them his new friends. No-one is left lonely, and the ones the trouble-makers tease are defended fiercely by Thor. Though, you know we have talked about those few incidents.”

Dwalin nodded slowly, processing the information. Thor did sound like a child version of him. Although, Dwalin and his ex-wife disapproved when Thor had chosen to fight during one lunch break for a girl who had gotten pinched by older bullies. No fists can solve conflicts, only worsen them, the father and mother had told Thor sternly that time. Still, Dwalin felt proud over his son being brave enough to challenge antagonists and injustice.

“However, there’s the language issue.”

Suddenly puzzled, Dwalin fleetingly looked at Ori who pursed his pink lips and finally met his gaze with serious blue eyes.

“Thor has keen ears, you know. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and all that. If he hears bad language at home, he’s likely to think it’s alright to speak, even in the classroom which disrupts the calm when the other children start to giggle and repeat. He’s impressionable, like any child. I can try to tell him not to use curses, but unless you stop letting him hear you swear, we’re fighting an impossible battle.”

Wow, sexy teacher’s correcting voice really did something for Dwalin, but this was not the time to dwell on such details. Dwalin found himself flushing in shame.

“If I may, Ori, I’d like to speak in my defense,” he replied and saw in his peripheral vision how Ori suddenly squirmed and the leather groaned under his behind.

‘No, Dwalin, don’t think about his behind!'

“Of course you can! Forgive me; perhaps I was too brazen…”

“No, you spoke your mind, so let’s settle this now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Dwalin stated and lifted one hand from the wheel to smooth down his short beard while he turned left and slowed the car to the new speed limit.

“I do think about my language when Thor lives with me. The only times I blunder might be during sports, and if I hurt myself, or when I…”

Suddenly Dwalin understood. Thor was sitting with him during games on the television when Dwalin swore. Thor usually was in the kitchen when his father cut himself with a knife, or nearby when Dwalin vacuumed and shoved a toe into a door-post. But the worst error was the door to his office being ajar when Dwalin had to take calls for work during the weekends.

It was his idea to not shut the door completely and isolate Thor from him by a visible border. He had intended to be considerate of his son. Instead he had allowed him to overhear and use the words Dwalin said in heated conversations with reluctant partners.

“And Thor is with me those times,” Dwalin finished after his pause of revelation, and felt somber and sad for the example he set for his offspring. A hand came and rested on his arm.

“I meant not to accuse you. I only wish the best for Thor.”

Dwalin felt the pressure from the small hand and he looked pointedly at it and then at Ori who met his gaze for a moment only, before he withdrew his hand and sat back, facing forward, though with pink cheeks.

“So do I,” Dwalin stated firmly. “I’ll mind my language in the future and tell him off if he continues to use bad words.”

Clearly wanting to dismiss the tense air in the car, Ori emitted with a playful tone, “Want to know which one he uses the most?”

Genuinely curious about which one from Dwalin’s big repertoire Thor had chosen, Dwalin arched an eyebrow to sign that he was waiting for Ori to continue.

“Bollocks. I don’t believe he completely understands what it means, but aside from the impropriety, it’s quite cute to hear the word spoken by a young child.”

Dwalin snorted with mirth, encouraged that Ori wasn’t madder with him.

“Oh, clever boy. He’s got something coming next weekend. Kitchen duty after all meals,” Dwalin grinned smugly and Ori winked at him, completely sidling with him.

Unfortunately, once Dwalin really focused on the surroundings again, the ride came to an abrupt end when he realized he was on the very street where Ori lived. This seemed to subdue the teacher as well and he merely emitted at one point, “Here’s my house.”

Dwalin smoothly pulled over and stopped the car by a messy sidewalk, and he leaned forward and glanced through the speckled window with an appraising gaze but the house looked alright considering the neighbourhood. It was a brick house with several floors and fairly old flats if one counted the windows facing the street.

Dwalin turned off the car and watched with some small amount of regret how Ori unbuckled himself and pulled the hood of his parka over his head while audibly shuddering at the wall of rain hammering around them. Once he was ready to leave, Ori turned towards him and smiled so Dwalin spotted white teeth in the middle of pink, curved lips.

“Thank you so much for the ride, Mr. Fundinson.”

“You’re welcome, Ori. It was my pleasure,” Dwalin purred warmly even as one part of his stomach clenched with unease. He wasn’t _smitten_ with the lad! It was only fascination with a new, intelligent person in his social life. And sadness now that Ori was about to leave.

His mild eyes swept over the partly neat, partly disheveled man, conveying a longing that hadn’t be present for many years. He watched how Ori sucked in air, froze, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Finally the teacher tilted his head and said, “Can I invite you over for some coffee?”

Dwalin’s mouth went dry.

“I don’t want to impose…” he muttered when Ori craned his neck; his lovely pale neck, and looked beseechingly at him. “Please, as a favour for driving me. So my conscience is truly convinced you’re not falling asleep behind the wheel.”

How could Dwalin say no to that?

***

Ori didn’t own an espresso machine like Dwalin did. He had a regular coffee machine with a generous kettle in it and as soon as he had prepared it, it gurgled and bubbled cozily and Dwalin realized that this brewing would take some time.

Ori invited him into the living room and Dwalin settled on the couch. He looked around. The room was the definition of cozy. Plaited blankets slung over the back of the couch, book shelves filled with books and small trinkets, candles on the windowsill, a thick grey rug, and a neat black coffee table with some magazines spread over the glass surface.

Dwalin read the names of the home and food-themed magazines and couldn’t be sure whether Ori had a girlfriend or was gay. Somehow that insecurity was disconcerting.

Ori entered the room then and Dwalin appraised his looser outfit now that the green parka was hung in the hall. Ori had tugged up the arms of his cardigan and shirt and exposed lean forearms, and the buttons along his torso were undone and exposed the beige shirt, and the showing of a soft belly that didn’t make Dwalin lose interest at all. The lad, err, man had also taken off his shoes and trotted around in striped socks.

Ori plopped down on the other pillow of the couch, on a respectable distance from his pupil’s father, and pulled up the legs to fold them beside him. Dwalin unbuttoned his grey blazer to make himself comfortable too, and waved a hand in front of him.

“No telly?”

Ori shook his head.

“That’s the weird, unique detail about me. I don’t want to be subjected to splashes of colour or loud noises when I get home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job with the kids, but it’s enough to be on edge for eight hours in the school. When I get home I want to unwind and read, for example.” Dwalin nodded, even though the idea of not owning a television seemed alien. Not that he or Thor, thank the lord, were addicted to shows, but he did enjoy the sports sometimes.

“I guess that makes sense,” he mused. Ori let out a laugh with a bitter tone laced in it.

“Does it? My ex kept nagging on me to buy one. Said it would fulfill my life; as if a telly is the meaning of life. In the end, I think that was the wedge that drove us apart. Depressing, isn’t it?”

Dwalin nibbled on his lips and couldn’t resist huffing, “Did your ex really choose a silly screen over being with you? What an idiot.”

Ori stared at him for a moment before he uttered, “Yes, he was an idiot.”

Dwalin masked his joy at having made Ori admit his sexual orientation, but quickly spoke to not linger on it and make Ori regret telling him. “Well, I think you have a lovely home, anyway. It’s… stimulating to the mind.”

He gestured around them, taking in the arranged books, the vases with long stemmed flowers, and scented candles.

“And here I would have pegged you for a tough, grim man not caring for decorations or furnishing,” Ori admitted and Dwalin quickly shifted around to better see the other man.

“Really? I’m aware that my house is sparsely decorated with colours besides black, white, and grey. I’d like to think that with Thor comes colourful chaos and toys, so that’s enough for me. But I do appreciate the old library feeling you’ve got going here.”

Ori tilted his head and his red fringe fell over his forehead and tangled with his long lashes before Ori impatiently brushed it aside.

“I was just teasing you. It’s beautiful to see you so fond of your boy. Though, you do have a flare for colours,” Ori remarked softly and pointed at the bluish, faded design on Dwalin’s knuckles. Dwalin lifted his hands and held them closer to the man so he could study them.

“Can’t really blame them on a drunken mistake. I was going through a phase where I admired the legacy of my ancestors, and my northern heritage. I wanted tattoos looking like blue war paint.”

“I think I’ve got a book on ancient cultures of Britain. You can borrow it,” Ori informed him, and for once a man didn’t stare at Dwalin’s tattoos with judgment and disapproval.

“I can show you the others some other day,” Dwalin said inadvertently and for a few ticking seconds, the two men stiffened and stared into each other’s eyes, before Ori released a hushed gasp and flew up from the couch.

“The machine’s stopped making noise. I’ll be back in a minute with the coffee,” he rushed out before he all but dashed from the living room which left Dwalin with plenty of time to curse his mad brain that didn’t filter his growing warmth for the man when he spoke.

While Ori was making conversation with safe, formal subjects, Dwalin was stumbling in with profanities, flirting lines, and downright creepy statements. He had chased away the gentle, nice teacher and he felt his confidence crumble. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t a Casanova, and Ori wasn’t an enamoured lover in distress.

Dwalin was a hard-working, aging middle-aged dad, and Ori, _god_ … Ori was a single, sexy, male version of a pixie with skills for teaching a whole class of eight-year old children, living in maybe not the best of areas but in a burrowed nest of brown wood, literature, and soft light. Why would a catch like Ori fancy Dwalin?

***

Dwalin was almost ready to take his leave when a scent of black coffee washed over him. There, at the edge of the living room, stood Ori with a tray on one hand. Two steaming cups, a milk pitcher, a small bowl with sugar, and a plate filled with several tempting cookies were placed on the tray. Cookies were rare but wonderful treats to Dwalin.

The lad had also combed his hair because the previously errant strands laid flat and gleamed silken in a copper nuance in the flickering lights from some candles Ori lit with his free hand. Dwalin stayed rooted on the soft couch, both from the sight of delicious food and drinks, and the beauty that carried them.

“I didn’t know if you take your coffee with milk or sugar, so I brought both. The cookies are a new recipe I’ve tried out, with dark chocolate chips _and_ dried cranberries. That might make them a little more healthy.” Ori spoke with his eyes downcast, trained on his burden as he carefully put it down on the table in front of Dwalin.

“Have you by any chance worked at a café?” Dwalin asked as he picked up one cup and a cookie. His undeniable attraction for Ori made the previous doubt and insecurity vanish now that the man was in his presence again. Ori seated himself, upright this time and definitely closer to his guest.

“Not exactly. I helped my brother at his restaurant when I was younger. I was a waiter there while I studied to become a teacher.”

Resolutely anxious to keep receiving an exploration of Ori’s past, and his current life style, Dwalin searched the room for more things to ask him about. He noticed a group of framed sketches on the wall by the window and he nodded towards them but didn’t speak until he had swallowed his mouthful of sweet cookie.

“You collect some artist’s works?”

For some reason, Ori sucked in his bottom lip, which drew Dwalin’s attention to it, and he began to stammer.

“I wouldn’t say that. They’re my sketches. Just doodles, but good enough to hang on my own wall.”

Astonished by the revealed talent, Dwalin’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

“Really? You’re full of surprises, Ori. Anything else you’ll reveal to me now?”

Ori shrugged and put down his cup before he leaned across Dwalin, and put his hand on his knee for balance as he reached under the coffee table for something that had been hidden from view by the magazines across the glass surface. Ori grasped something, huffed, and withdrew with roses on his cheeks once his burden appeared.

Dwalin sat stock-still, feeling the burn from Ori’s palm on his slacks even after the man had lifted away his hand.

“My last secret hobby. Knitting,” Ori emitted in a slightly breathless voice and rummaged through the basket with yarn, papers with numbers and pictures of patterns, and needles. The lad had knitted his own bloody mittens!

Dwalin took a long sip of the remaining coffee in his cup and let the drink scorch his tongue and throat rather than sit idle and awkward. He had to think about anything but Ori’s hands on him, touching him. Dwalin inelegantly wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and caught the stray specks on his moustache and beard.

“I… I think I need to head home if I’m to work tomorrow,” he let out in a grunt and he didn’t miss how the lad sagged beside him.

”Yes. Yes, of course; it’s been a long day for both of us,” Ori answered and Dwalin couldn’t determine on whether he sounded more hurt than disappointed. His complete focus was that lest he lean over and capture Thor’s teacher’s lips in a heated kiss, he had to remove himself from Ori’s too bright, too wonderful and yet unobtainable proximity. Dwalin had to get out of the flat even if it pained him to see Ori turning subdued and hunching in on himself.

Dwalin stood and marched to the hall where he found his coat on a hanger and nearly dry. He busied himself with putting it on while Ori stepped out from the living room and carried a worried expression on his youthful, delicate face. Dwalin had never felt so much like a lecherous, perverted old man and he avoided Ori’s inquiring gaze by looking at his hands buttoning the coat.

“Mr. Fundinson?”

Dwalin closed his eyes for a second, the formal name making him feel so much older than this lad who deserved the best partners. But he was forced to look up and acknowledge Ori who had wrapped his arms around himself.

“Will you be alright?”

To Dwalin’s ears, it sounded like a question on whether he was alright right now, and not later when driving.

“Yeah, I don’t live far from here,” he stated absently and checked his pockets for the car keys. “Thank you for the coffee. The cookies are tasty. It was nice getting to know you,” he added, not about to burst out from Ori’s home without thanking him for his hospitality.

But before he made it to the door behind him, Ori took a bold step forward and untangled his crossed arms to reveal a familiar small notebook in his right hand.

“I found it in the pocket of your coat. I had to write something down.”

Ori handed Thor’s notebook to him but kept the hold when Dwalin grasped it, and brushed his forefinger over Dwalin’s larger thumb. Starving for more affection, Dwalin sought out Ori’s deploring, round and impossibly blue eyes that gazed up at him.

“Read this in the car, please. Good night, Mr. Fundinson,” Ori whispered before taking a few, too many, steps back.

“Dwalin,” Dwalin rushed out with a thick voice, desperate to hear his name from the lovely man’s mouth, if only for one time. Ori bowed his head gracefully, exposing his porcelain neck for a second.

“Fine, _Dwalin_. Thanks for the ride and for the company.”

Dwalin shoved the notebook back into his pocket and a remnant of sense alone made him ignore his desire and open the door to let himself out. “It was my pleasure. You have a nice home. Thanks for inviting me in.”

Ori blushed and carefully closed the door and Dwalin waved his hand in goodbye like a lovesick tosser until he only saw the wooden barrier. Sighing, but with a suddenly lighter mood and a rarely existing spring in his step when he exited the building, he went to his car.

Once behind the wheel, he glanced to the left and was feeling a longing upon seeing the empty seat.

He had enjoyed this evening. The purely casual and friendly evening where two men helped each other from inconveniences, that was. Dwalin had in no way let Ori know that he might fancy him romantically. He hadn’t even asked him for a second meeting. No, he was not about to get his hopes up and create illusions about Thor’s teacher. The night after the show had been a series of kind acts that would improve his karma, nothing more.

Dwalin reached for the seatbelt but when he attached it, he felt the hard cover of the notebook digging into his hip. He managed to tug it out and he paged through the reports until he came to the last that was scribbled on its own page. Dwalin read it with his heart pounding with foolish hope.

_Dear Mr. Dwalin._

_This isn’t a note concerning your son and my student. That’s why it’s written on an empty page; so you can rip it off later. I just wanted to say, or write I guess, that I enjoyed your company tonight. Very much. So, without further ado, with the risk of burning myself like all the romantic characters in Jane Austen’s novels by behaving like this to the dad of a child I’m going to teach for two more years, I thank you for rescuing me from the rain, and I wonder if you want to visit a café with me some weekend when you don’t have Thor over. I dearly hope you’ll think of it as a date. Because you intrigue me, plus you’re very handsome. If you don't like this suggestion, just crumble the note and throw it away and we'll never speak of this again. But here’s my phone number…_

Dwalin ripped the note from the book, and folded it carefully before placing it in the inner pocket of his coat, where it would be safe from the rain. Then, Dwalin smiled.


End file.
